Advantage Disadvantage Page 17

  Frank asked, “Are any of these officials working tonight also assigned to the state finals?”

  “No, almost though. There was a last minute change that took one of these guys off the championship game,” the observer said.

  Frank knew that Bobby G. would get great pleasure knowing that he may have cost Billy Rechter his chance at this year’s state final. He thought how much easier winning this bet could have been if Rechter would have cooperated. Frank began nervously tapping his foot as he remembered what was at stake during this game. He would have to be careful to hide his temporary bias toward the Carl Markon High School team.

  Billy had completed the check of players and named starters in the official book at the table. Three referees gathered in front of the scorer’s table and summoned the coaches to call their captains. Each team brought three players – East End had the starting seniors. Jamal humbly stepped up to the meeting. The UC was getting noisy as the schools’ bands played dueling fight songs. Coach Venturi was unusually calm. He fretted all weekend to try to find a weakness in the Markon team, but he never found one. He hoped his team would play with confidence and perhaps catch Markon on an off night. But he really did not have a proactive plan. Marcus, proud as a peacock, watched his son participate in the captains’ meeting.

  “What do they talk about in the pregame conference?” Frank asked the observer.

  “IIAA wants the referee to ensure the players are properly dressed, to establish gentle authority, and also to remind the teams to play with good sportsmanship. I think before games the players are so wired they hardly listen to it anyway,” the observer replied.

  Billy had his pregame version of the discussion memorized and polished.

  “Coaches, may we assume that all players who might enter the game tonight are properly equipped and ready to play basketball tonight?”

  “Yes,” both coaches replied.

  Billy continued, “Coaches are there any special considerations that we need to consider for this game such as medical bandages or religious uniform exceptions?”

  “No, we’ve got none of that,” Scott replied.

  “Neither do we,” replied the Markon coach.

  “Ok, thanks coaches. Players, we know that this is an important game for both teams. But the rules for tonight are the same as all other games. We implore each of you to show your respect for the game, respect each other, respect the coaches and respect the officials. Coaches, we ask for your respect as well. We will work hard for both teams tonight. Coaches, remember to coach from inside the designated box at all times. When you call time out, please show us signals to indicate a short or long one. Players, congratulations on taking your teams this far. Enjoy the moment – the three of us will, and we hope you do as well. Play hard, play intensely, but always tonight, show great sportsmanship. Alright men, shake hands and have a great game.”

  The officials then approached the scorer’s table and shook hands with the timer, scorekeeper, state observer and even Frank. This was quite an honor for the crew, and Billy had accepted that this year was just not his time to go downstate for the finals.

  East End was the home team. They wore their white home uniforms and their band had the honor of playing the National Anthem. It echoed off the rafters of the cavernous United Center. Next were player introductions. The referees removed their all black IIAA jackets after the introduction of the last players. Starting players took the floor, and one of the oldest living ex-board members of IIAA approached the center circle to throw a “ceremonial toss”. Having dispensed with all pre-contest festivities, it was game time - winner goes downstate.

  Billy moved forward to start the game with a jump ball. The crowd was on its feet screaming. It was deafening. The ball was batted around three or four times. Finally, a Markon player wrestled the ball away and in the confusion dribbled toward the wrong basket. Half the crowd was shocked, the other did not realize the mistake about to happen. Neither did a player on East End’s team. The Markon player drove toward the basket and as he went in for the lay-up, an opponent initiated hard contact. While still in the air, he released the ball, which floated into the basket. The crowd roared. Billy covered the play and blew sharply his Fox40 whistle. This was a complicated play. Did the points count? If so, which team tallied the points? Did they shoot free throws? If not whose ball was it?

  Billy confidently raised his fist as he blew his whistle to indicate a foul was committed. He gave the preliminary signal for a push. He then waved off the basket. As he approached the scorer’s table, both coaches pinched in to try to understand what the ruling meant. Billy stopped and in a loud clear voice he said,

  “Because the Markon player was shooting at the other team’s basket, not his own basket, he was not an Airborne Shooter. This means that when the foul occurred, the ball became dead. Because the ball was dead, there is no basket”

  He showed the no basket signal by extending his arms straight out from the shoulders. Then he crossed them back and forth in from of his body to wave off the points.

  Billy continued, “Since a player must shoot the ball at his own basket to be in the Act of Shooting, the foul committed here is simply a common foul. Therefore, the foul was by twenty-two white, a push. The ball will be put in by red on the baseline, no free throws.”

  Both coaches turned away without raising any fuss. Frank tried to understand what was going on.

  “Do you agree with Billy’s rulings?” Frank asked the observer.

  “I agree entirely. That is an example of how good Rechter is … we really made a damned mistake not using him this year at the finals downstate. I am not sure why the state’s office pulled him off the finals game. I’ve got to look into that.”

  Frank began to worry. Bobby G. had placed the entire bet on a team who tried to score in the wrong basket on the first play of the game. It could be a very long night.

  They played on. The first quarter went back and forth with no unusual plays or rulings beside the first one. East End struggled with Markon’s full-court press but was able to keep the score close. The play was sloppy, and as Coach Venturi feared, East End could not find a rhythm for the game. Frank was sweating so profusely that the state observer asked him if he was ok. Frank told him he was vacillating between being hot and cold because of some kind of virus. Out of mercy, the observer retrieved one of the team towels from the trainer so Frank could towel-off. The score was tied at the end of the quarter, but the East End’s players were gassed.

  Frank was trying to calm himself down. His thoughts were jumping around in his head, “East End was not playing very well, but they were very much in the game. On the other hand, Markon High did not have to win this game; they just had to stay within 6 and ½ points.”

  Frank got up to hustle to the washroom. Bobby G., who was sitting a few rows behind the scorer’s table, followed him.

  “Don’t worry, Frankie. East End can’t finish this one,” he whispered to him.

  “I can’t take it, man,” said Frank. “What if East End covers?”

  Bobby G. quietly said, “If that happens, one way or another, you won’t ever see me – the bangers would hunt me down if I didn’t pay them off, which I won’t do. I’d try to leave town for a while. But don’t sweat that.”

  Frank was no fool, but he was just figuring something out. He immediately played out two scenarios as far as Bobby G. was concerned. If East End covered, then Bobby G. would disappear as he suggested. But wouldn’t Bobby G. have the same problem if Markon High covered? The bookie would not owe anybody money, but they might be pretty pissed off if they figured it out. If that happened, maybe Bobby G. would spill the beans and blame the gang’s losses on Frank. While standing at the urinal next to Bobby G., for the first time, Frank doubted the sanity of the Advantage / Disadvantage plan. Frank was in way over his head and maybe in real danger.

  “When this is over how will I get my cut?” Frank whimpered in a rising, nervous voice.

  “I’ll
call you at the office as soon as I can. Then I will get you your share. Just relax and enjoy the game. I am leaving at halftime – this place is filled with about-to-be pissed-off gangbangers. Just think about half a mil, brother, half a mil.”

  When the buzzer sounded to signal the start of the second quarter, East End came out confidently. Playing to a first quarter tie boosted East End’s confidence. Frank reclaimed his seat next to the state observer.

  “Great quarter for my referees and both teams, right Frank?” said the observer.

  Not caring to engage in more conversation Frank shortly snapped back, “Well, seen one close game, seen them all.”

  There was no relief for Frank in the second quarter. The game had a good flow, with few fouls and not much notable play. At the end of the first half, East End had a two-point lead and their crowd was going crazy. Frank looked back at the crowd and noticed that, as planned Bobby G. was gone. The East End Band was belting out loud-music while their dance squad took the halftime floor. Frank had to use the facilities again because he his kidneys were pressured by his out-of-control nerves. When he returned to his seat, the observer struck up more conversation.

  “I find it odd that you are not constantly typing. How do you get your stories in by the deadline?”

  “Well, I’ve pre-written the story of this game with background information and a general flow. The only things I have to add are noteworthy occurrences such as the awkward way the game started and the highest scores and which way the score tilts. Most of it is already set.”

  “Wow, it’s like you already know who will win this game.”

  “I can only wish I knew.”

  ***

  “Boys, you are doing great,” Coach Venturi began in his halftime meeting. “We knew this was a good team. Probably the best team we have faced this year. They are quick. Let us play our game and let the chips fall where they may. We just have to play them even the rest of the way.”

  In the other locker room, there was chaos. The Markon coach was very unhappy with the effort. In between the yelling and screaming, he kicked a 30-gallon garbage can across the room. In his heart of hearts, he knew his team was better and faster than East End. He told his team to be prepared to put on the full-court press for the next two quarters. He wanted to pick up the pace and run East End off the court.

  Coach Venturi opened the second half with an unusual zone defense. Errant three point shots rang out from Markon’s guards much to chagrin of their coach and he quickly called time out. He reminded his team that he wanted to out-quick East End’s team with defense and full court pressure, not a half court game. Markon came out of the timeout and obeyed their coach’s plans. They contested every pass at all points on the court. If a player appeared to back-off and concede a shot, the Markon coach benched him for a fresh substitute.

  This was more than Frank could take. East End was hanging in there. They were up four points at the end of the third quarter. Frank was still ahead on the bet – but only by 2 and ½ points. East End played a convincing game so far, and his imagination was conjuring up the worst personal outcomes. Both teams came back out to play the fourth quarter and they were waiting for the referees to put the ball in play. Then Frank saw the telltale sign. East End players put their hands on their hips or on their knees instead of standing straight up – they looked exhausted. As the quarter began, the Markon team was getting layups off stolen passes from their full-court press. East End’s limitations finally caught up to them. Markon grabbed their first lead since halftime. Then they stole the ball more and scored. Repeatedly they ran quick three-player weaves for easy baskets as they completely dominated East End’s best efforts.

  The East End High School basketball team fought valiantly in the Super Sectional contest but towards the end, the writing was on the wall. With two minutes left to go, Scott made sure that all players made it into the game including Alex Austin. The coach felt terrible; his stomach was upset. It hurt him to see the disappointment in the team’s eyes as the buzzer sounded the end of East End’s season. But this was an unexpected feeling for Scott; he wasn’t so bothered that he did not get to win a state championship or that any colleges would not be impressed by this game, he felt badly for the boys. Markon eventually won by seven points, covering Bobby G.’s point spread. As they rolled through the good sportsmanship line shaking hands with Markon’s team, Coach Venturi was contemplating his post game speech.

  Instead of thinking about celebrating, Frank wondered if he would be able to calm his nerves. He could not imagine how horrible he would feel if they had lost the bet. Relief overwhelmed him. But he was troubled about depending on Bobby G. to lay low long enough to pay him.

  Before joining his team, Coach Venturi had to take care of some business. His stopped by the referee’s locker room. Scott pushed past the security guard and barged through the door. The officials were smiling and celebrating when they saw Venturi enter. A silence overtook the room. Usually the locker room was out of bounds after a game because losing coaches, players, and parents can be highly emotional.

  “Men, I wanted to thank you for working the game tonight. We couldn’t have had a better crew.” thanked Scott.

  Nobody said anything – they were in shock. When a losing coach told a referee that he has done a great job when his team has lost, it carried more weight than if the compliment came from a winning coach.

  “Coach, your boys played hard tonight. They should be proud. Markon was the better team tonight, that’s all,” Billy suggested.

  “Well, that’s what I’m going to tell them in a few minutes, but again, great job fellas. I’ll see you in summer camp!” Scott finished.

  As Coach Venturi walked back to join his team in the locker room, he passed all of the team’s parents (except Elizabeth), school administrators, and others. The parents gave him a gauntlet of clapping, cheering, and pats on his back. He felt great and approached his team inside the locker room.

  “Gentleman, the State of Illinois certifies me to teach mathematics and to coach basketball in this state, but this season, I didn’t teach as much as I learned. I picked up something from each of you this year, and most of all, you helped me reconnect with my love of coaching high school basketball. If I could have accomplish three things this year I would have been happy; 1) to improve each of your basketball skill sets, 2) to teach you the value of respecting your peers and coming together as a team, and 3) to have fun. I believe that we accomplished all of these goals. Look, heads up, do not feel bad. Be positive, we are Sectional Champions. You are all headed for greatness in your lives. You guys know I’m right. Captain Jamal Imari I need your help. I want you to go around the room and tell each player how you think they’ve improved this year … go ahead Jamal, be honest.”

  Jamal, holding back sniffles, began, “Uh, well, James. You are East End’s best passer. You led the team in assists and set school records.”

  “That’s right,” Scott said as he started a round of applause for James.

  One by one, Jamal worked his way around the room. Finally, when Jamal was finished, Scott concluded, “Boys … uh men. I have said this before, and I will say it again – you picked a great captain for our team. Jamal worked hard for you and for himself, and we will all be following his terrific college career during the next four years at EPSU. Let’s show your captain your appreciation for how he represented you this year.”

  A rousing applause roared from inside the locker room. The parents outside were anxious to see the team and console them, but is sounded like they did not need too much mending.

  Scott continued inside at the team meeting. “I also need to thank Jamal’s dad, Coach Imari, for his hard work and contribution this year. Beside his help at East End, he’s become my best friend.”

  The two men high-fived each other.

  “Finally men, you know the drill – thank your friends and families for coming to see you play tonight, and all season.”

  With the team busines
s completed for the night they opened the locker room doors and Scott watched proudly as the players were reunited with their families and friends. Many stopped by to thank Coach Venturi for the most memorable basketball year in memory. If he heard it once, he had heard it twelve times, “Great job this year Coach – well done!”

  The IIAA dignitaries were milling around courtside as Frank sent his article to his editor electronically. He packed up his laptop. The theme of the article was, of course, a huge upset of Frank’s pick to win it all. Although nervous, Frank was riding high, trying to believe that he would soon have a half million dollars.

  Chapter Thirty-six. For Mutual Benefit

  Frank finished the high school basketball season with excellent coverage of the state finals. He was able to go downstate relaxed and critically report on the games because he no longer cared about who won the games. Even the state observer who, again, sat beside him at the finals commented how much better Frank looked. The sportswriter blamed his earlier disposition on the flu, and the two enjoyed the games together at the end of the scorer’s desk.

  A week and a half had passed since the game at the United Center and there was no word from Bobby G. Every idle minute found Frank thinking about the bookie and the money. Was Bobby G. able to evade the angry gangbang betters? Alternatively, did he skip town with the money? Maybe he was in police custody snitching on Frank and spilling the Advantage/Disadvantage beans. He nervously stared at the phone hour after hour, spending unusual time at the newspaper office.

  When the phone rang, he waited for the second ring to register on the Caller ID. Horror filled his mind as the LED display showed “Englewood Precinct 7 Chgo PD”. This could only be bad news for Frank.

  “Hello? This is Frank.”

  “Detective T.J. Battle here. How’s my favorite sportswriter doing?”